


As Long As You Love Me So

by flaming_muse



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-15
Updated: 2011-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-27 09:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A future Hummel-Anderson holiday party, festive bow tie and all.</p><p>spoilers for 3x09 (“Extraordinary Merry Christmas”), set soon after the boys graduate from college</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Long As You Love Me So

**Author's Note:**

> the title comes from the the lyrics of the song “Let It Snow”

Blaine leaned in the doorway between their apartment’s tiny kitchen and its somewhat larger living room and watched Kurt put the finishing touches on the decorations for the party. There was a cascade of jingling bells on the back of the front door where their coats usually hung, strings of twinkling white lights twisted along the curtain rods, and Blaine’s guitar stand had been moved to their already cramped bedroom to make room for the tiny, fresh Christmas tree in the corner. He and Kurt had decorated it the weekend before with red ribbons and shining silver balls and birds. The glittering star on top Blaine had nervously brought home from the charity craft fair at school the first year they’d lived together in college, and if its gold beads and sequins didn’t match the rest of the color scheme Kurt had never once suggested swapping it out for something else.

Every chair they owned, including Kurt’s precious dressing table bench and the folding teak bath stool Kurt used for his monthly intensive and private home spa evening, was crammed in against the walls around the sofa, the piano, and the other furniture. There was barely room to move around, but with the candles dotting the various flat surfaces beside scarlet, silver, and white runners and fans of napkins it was still a festive and cheery sight. Sheet music of holiday standards, classical and modern, were neatly arranged on the piano’s music stand.

In the kitchen behind Blaine were lined up all of their mismatched but real cut crystal glasses Kurt collected from who-knows-where as he wandered through the city, and Kurt’s favorite set of square white dishes were stacked in neat piles, ready to be heaped high with food. A garland of red berries and miniature silver bells adorned the tiny window at the room’s far end. The holiday cards they’d received were stuck with magnets on the refrigerator, and Blaine’s heart warmed at the sight of the smiling, familiar faces there, even if they weren’t all in the same town to celebrate in person anymore.

Kurt lit the last of the candles set on the wine crates they used as end tables beside the sofa; they’d been one of the first items of furniture they’d brought home together in their first apartment in college, and Blaine could still remember Kurt’s proud smile as he decoupaged them with line drawings of Italian Renaissance architecture and turned them into something special and just theirs.

Blaine was fairly certain they were going to have a fight at some point about replacing them with real tables when they had the money to spare, but he wasn’t going to let those crates go.

“Hmm,” Kurt said, standing back and casting a critical eye at the space. He thought for a minute and switched off the lamp on the bookcase, making the room a little darker and more atmospheric with the candlelight. His deep red shirt shimmered in the glow like he, too, was a magical part of the holiday itself. But then he was always something out of the ordinary to Blaine.

“It looks nice,” Blaine said. “And so do you.”

Kurt smiled his thanks over his shoulder while he did something with his iPod in its dock atop the upright piano in the corner. “And you are still determined to wear that tie.”

Grinning, Blaine made a show of adjusting his bright red bow tie with its embroidered reindeer. “It’s festive.”

“It’s hideous.”

“But festive,” Blaine insisted, and Kurt snorted and wove his way around the coffee table to come stand next to him and look at the room.

“Fine, it’s festive. At least you’re not wearing a Santa sweater.” Kurt leaned into him when Blaine slipped an arm around his slim waist.

“I told you I was joking about that.”

“I know, but you weren’t.”

“No.” Blaine had really liked that sweater when they saw it on the table at the street fair, but Kurt’s veto had been swift and absolute.

Kurt kissed his cheek and turned his attention back to the room. “Okay. The food is either heating or chilling, and the apartment isn’t going to get any larger. I think we’re ready.” He stiffened. “Wait. How many people are coming?”

“Fourteen? Sixteen? Did David ever say if he was bringing Anna?”

“Yes, and he’s not. They’re off again. Three, four, five, six, eight, nine - “ Kurt pointed at the chairs around the room and broke off, pressing a hand over his eyes. “There aren’t enough seats. There isn’t enough food. There isn’t enough _wine_ , which would at least cover for the other two sins.”

Blaine grabbed Kurt’s arm before he could descend into all-out panic. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine, Kurt. They’re our friends. And you know Wes will bring a few extra bottles.”

“Three people on the sofa, plus one on the arm. Three on the piano bench if they’re small or quite friendly,” Kurt said to himself. “Or if it’s Rachel and she’s had a few glasses of wine, both. Five chairs, two stools, someone will invariably perch on the windowsill...”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Blaine told him again, doing his own quick count. It would be tight, but wasn’t like any of their friends had a bigger apartment; he and Kurt had lucked out finding one that was large enough to fit a piano in it at all, even if it meant they’d sacrificed having good morning light and a window in the bathroom. “There’s enough, and if some of us have to double up in a chair as the night goes on, we won’t mind. Ben and Tom, Wes and Naomi, me and you...”

Kurt relaxed for a second before saying with horror, “Oh, god, Blaine. I forgot _us_ in my count! Work has been so busy, but how I can forget simple party planning basics like - ”

“Stop. The party will be great, and I can always sit on the floor. I don’t mind. Or the coffee table.”

“You’re not sitting on the coffee table,” Kurt told him.

“Why not? It’s sturdy enough. It’ll hold my weight.” Blaine gestured to the ancient steamer trunk they’d dragged back from a flea market halfway across the city.

“Because if you sit on it then once the music starts you’ll start dancing on it. Also, we need it for its actual purpose: to hold plates, glasses, and trays of food for our many, many guests.” Kurt took a deep breath and straightened again, like a general inspecting his army. “I think it’s all right. I’ll be fine standing. It’s not like I won’t be spending three-quarters of the night passing around drinks and food and keeping Santana out of our bedroom, anyway.”

“You could always sit on top of the piano.”

“I don’t plan on drinking enough for that tonight.”

“That’s too bad,” Blaine said. “One of my favorite things about having it is playing for you while you’re draped over it so you can feel the notes all the way into your bones.”

“Maybe another night,” Kurt replied, looking faintly embarrassed as he always did about how effusive and loose he could become when drinking. “I’m getting too old for hangovers, Blaine.”

Blaine caught Kurt’s hand, feeling a sudden rush of concern at the thought of losing that sort of moment with Kurt, even if he kind of agreed that hangovers were losing whatever charm they had once held. “Just as long as you don’t have to be drunk to let me play for you.”

Kurt pressed his free hand to Blaine’s cheek and promised softly, “No. I’ll never stop wanting that. And I’ll never be too old to sing with you, either.”

“Thank you.” Blaine turned his head to kiss Kurt’s soft palm and breathed in instead of pushing him against the wall and seeking out his mouth. Their guests would be here at any minute. “At least we don’t have to worry about the music tonight.”

“Not unless we end up with five guitars and a tin whistle again like we did that one time.”

Blaine huffed out a laugh at the memory at that crazy summer party, one of their first. “We have a more well-rounded group of friends now.”

“And I threatened them with store-bought desserts if they didn’t RSVP with their instrument of choice. We have the piano, David’s guitar, Harmony’s harp - “

“Kaitlin is bringing her violin,” Blaine said.

“Right, and we know Tom will drum on almost anything.” Kurt looked around. “I should find some books or something ahead of time; I’d like to keep our lamps and dishes intact.”

“I’ll get my Stats books. I hated that class.”

Kurt blinked at him in surprise. “You still have your Statistics books? Why? We have so little room as it is for the books we _like_.”

“There could be an emergency.”

“A Statistics emergency?”

Blaine shrugged. “If there’s one thing that class taught me it’s that anything is possible. Anyway, they’re really thick, and I use them to prop up my shoe rack so I can get another row of shoes underneath.”

Kurt looked at him for a long, amused minute and said, “Go get them.”

By the time Blaine had dug the books out from the floor of his third of the bedroom closet, there were new voices coming from the living room. He set the books on the floor under one of the chairs and joined Kurt at the door to welcome Rachel, Wes, and Naomi.

“Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, Happy almost New Year, and any other appropriate winter holiday greetings,” Rachel said to Blaine as he helped her off with her coat. “I feel it’s important to embrace the spirit of inclusiveness, especially given the higher rate of suicides at this time of year. I don’t want anyone to be left out.”

Blaine gave her a fond hug and said, “And the same to you, Rachel. Come get a drink. I made sure we got an extra bottle of that chardonnay you like.”

She beamed at him and picked up a wrapped bowl from the table by the door. “Ever the consummate host, Mr. Anderson,” she said. “I brought some vegan meatballs; they just need to be heated up.”

“Ever the consummate guest, Miss Berry.”

“Wes brought wine,” Kurt said happily, handing three cold bottles to Blaine and taking Rachel’s coat from him in return. “I’ll go put this in the bedroom.”

Blaine smiled after him, pleased but unsurprised that Kurt’s nerves had already vanished in the face of their friends’ arrival, and went to sort out the meatballs and get drinks for their guests.

Two hours later, when everyone had been plied with enough wine and good food that they were warm with the company and the music they always seemed ready to perform when they were together, Blaine came back from grabbing another bag of ice off of the fire escape and found Kurt leaning in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. He was watching Rachel and Wes harmonize on a beautiful, unaccompanied rendition of ‘Pat-a-pan’ with a smile on his lips.

Blaine set the ice on the counter and slipped his arms around Kurt’s waist from behind. He pressed a kiss to the back of Kurt’s neck. The scent of his hair and his cologne wrapped around Blaine like the most soothing and warm blanket, and he gave into the urge to kiss Kurt again. Kurt murmured something wordlessly in return and set his hands on Blaine’s arms.

“They sound good together,” Blaine said, barely above a whisper.

“I prefer her voice with yours,” Kurt replied.

“I prefer _my_ voice with _yours_.”

“Soon.” Kurt’s voice was tinged with amusement. “It wouldn’t do to upstage our guests quite yet.”

“I thought that was part of the reason we had these singing parties.”

Kurt laughed and pulled Blaine’s arms more tightly around himself. “Shh. They might hear.”

Rachel hit the last note of the song with her usual perfection, and she shot Wes a huge smile as she took his hand and curtseyed to the rest of their friends.

Then in the sort of abrupt musical switch Blaine had gotten used to over the years, David picked up his guitar, and he and Nick started in on ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’; Blaine was glad he’d fetched those books earlier when Tom started to drum along with them almost immediately. Concentrating, Harmony began to pluck out the melody on her Celtic harp along with the guys, much to Kaitlin's amusement. Santana and Naomi got up in the few feet of clear space by the front door and began to dance, as much as spinning around while holding onto each other and laughing could be called dancing.

Blaine worried a little for the safety of the lamp on the table by the door, but he just tugged Kurt back into him a little more and swayed gently with the beat. He felt light on his feet and effervescent with happiness. It wasn’t the wine or even Kurt’s ever-intoxicating presence. It was his life. _This_ was his life.

“Hey, Kurt?” he said.

Kurt swayed a bit with him. “Mmm?”

“Do you remember that Christmas show when we were in high school? The Judy Garland one?”

“Mmm. The chalet was lovely. There was a fireplace, room to dance, and _so_ much seating. Sometimes I wake up from dreams of that furniture.”

The set _had_ been lovely. It had, in many ways, been this amazing dream for them both, this beautiful future where they could entertain in gracious charm. If it had cut unpleasantly close to home to have to pretend to be closeted in that retro pastiche while they were stuck being careful every day in Lima, there were still parts of the vision that had been so vivid and wonderful that Blaine’s chest had hurt for weeks afterward that he and Kurt couldn’t have any of that yet, that they were in high school, soon to be parted when Kurt left him behind for college, and that it would be years before they could just live together as adults openly in love and in reach of their dreams.

It hadn’t quite happened the way they’d expected, and here they were, living together in a tiny apartment that had drafty windows and barely room for the two of them in the kitchen, with friends who came to their holiday party in jeans instead of gowns (apart from Rachel, who could always be trusted to rise to the occasion), with inexpensive wine, cramped seating, and music played by alcohol-numbed fingers instead of a full studio orchestra. The bathroom door stuck, the couch was second-hand, there were cockroach traps under the kitchen sink, and the snow outside was dirty from city grime.

It was so far from that glorious, genteel dream they’d both shared. And yet -

“This is better,” Blaine said, as absolutely sure of that as he was that Kurt was the love of his life.

Kurt turned his head so that he could smile into Blaine’s eyes, and that same sureness was there in his own expression. “Yes. It is.”

And later, whether it would be during the party, after their guests were gone, or on some other night soon, Blaine knew he would get Kurt to sit beside him on the piano bench and sing carols and snappy holiday duets until Blaine had to reach out and silence Kurt with a kiss, just because he could.

This was so much better.


End file.
